They come with burdens, I open my hand,
A harbor for sorrow, a lantern of flame,
I steady their ships as they near the land,
Yet none will inquire the weight of my name.
I whisper in symbols, in storm and in star,
In parables woven of ash and of rain,
But they hear only the echoes afar,
Not the marrow that bleeds in the heart of my pain.
I am the anchor when tempests roar,
The compass they trust when the heavens are blind,
Yet no one perceives that my own soul’s core
Is fractured, is drowning, is breaking in kind.
O see them rejoicing, the deck filled with cheer,
They sing to the voyage, the salt and the wave,
But none turns an eye to the captain near,
Who steers toward the rocks no one rises to save.
The mast still holds, though my arms are weak,
The sails still swell with a borrowed breath,
Yet silence answers the help I seek,
While the helm I cling to is carved by death.
What is a savior, if never saved?
What is a healer, if left to decay?
The sea swallows whole the heart once brave,
And the stars bear witness, but drift away.
O children of fortune, who rest on my chest,
Who dream while I guard through the sleepless night,
Know that the captain, though giving his best,
Is a man undone, unseen in his plight.
So when the vessel shudders, when silence reigns,
When the captain falls with no final song,
Remember the one who carried your chains,
And died unheard, though he steered so long.